The Saloon
by EssieJane2
Summary: Modern Day fic. Just Fluff. Inez. All Seven.


The Saloon

Modern Day fic. Just Fluff. Inez. All Seven.

As always, I would love to know what people think. Please? :)

...

She whispered a quiet 'Thankyou' to the air, not expecting - or getting - an audible reply, but feeling a soft brush of air against her cheek.

It had been Ezra, this time, she thought. Buck would have hit the man, with the glass mug, not just tipped it over in his lap. No, this was more Ezra's style. Subtle, elegant - and _very_ effective.

She knew who they were. The original Seven, still watching over their place, and their people. She had never seen them, but sometimes, late in the evening, when she was closing up alone, and everything was quiet, she could hear muted voices, the sound of booted feet on the floorboards, and even the occasional soft chime of a spur. The sounds of the busy saloon this place had been modelled on.

Her great, great - she wasn't sure how many greats - Aunt Inez's diaries had told her of them, and how they had protected their town and the men and women who had lived and worked there. All of them had been respectful of women - chivalrous, almost, although she knew that none of them were knights in shining armour. They had been men, with dark sides as well as light - but she was glad they were here with her, now. Working in a bar wasn't the easiest job for any woman, and a young and pretty woman had to be able to take a lot of things from a lot of people.

She believed herself to be a modern woman, and well able to look out for herself, but she was still glad that they were there.

Tonight's incident was a perfect example. A drunken man, loudly proclaiming himself able to 'take any woman he wanted' (Though she had seriously doubted it, in the condition he was in right then) had decided that he wanted _her_. He had grabbed onto her arm and tried to pull her into his lap. He was large and even in his inebriated state, quite a bit stronger than her. They had scuffled and somehow, before the bouncers could get there to help her, an almost full mug of iced beer, on the table, had tipped over. The contents landing squarely on the front of the drunken man's trousers.

 _She_ knew that no-one had been touching it, but realised that to anyone else, it would have looked like it had just been knocked over, in the scuffle, or been tipped over, perhaps, by a bump to the table. _She_ knew better, and she smiled a little smile just for herself. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened...

...

She had heard the occasional story, too, of men who had behaved badly towards women in the bar; who had claimed to have heard voices whispering in their ears, even though there had been no-one nearby, at the time. Voices telling of things that could happen to men who 'disrespected ladies' on the premises - or off of them. Sometimes very graphic, and occasionally, even medical, things. (The latter were usually the nights she found her first aid kit rearranged, too.)

For some reason, those men never came back again, or if they did, they behaved themselves very differently, indeed. One even claimed to have 'seen the light' and apologised profusely for behaving in an 'Unchristian manner' towards her. He had given her a small black and white rosary, which she now kept behind the bar.

Another had disregarded the warnings, and his cell phone for some reason, on the following night, had refused to call anywhere but the local Sheriff's office - which it had called repeatedly, even without his touching the device.

There had been an aura of fun and cheer in the air that night - even more so, after one of the Sheriffs, following up on the repeated calls, had recognised the man as a wanted felon, and promptly arrested him.

Another man had seen a figure in black. A figure that no-one else had seen, but who had glared at him in such a menacing manner, that he had promptly left the bar - and the women he had been hitting on - and had never come back.

Most people had assumed it to be an alcoholic hallucination, but again, _she_ knew it wasn't. Nor was the poetry that occasionally appeared on the bar, from an unknown source.

...

She looked up as the door opened, and her smile widened as she saw the men coming in. Some of her favorite patrons: Team Seven of the ATF, from the Federal Building across the street. "Good Evening, Gentlemen!"

"Evening."

"Evening!"

"Hi!"

"Hello, Darlin'!"

"Hey!"

"Hello."

"Good Evenin' Ms Inez."

FINIS.


End file.
